


A Downton Abbey Christmas Carol Tv Special

by Rap541



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:56:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rap541/pseuds/Rap541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every tv show needs to visit this trope, don't you think? This was written for the Matthew/Mary Secret Santa 2015 event on Tumblr for Whatsyourpathology</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Downton Abbey Christmas Carol Tv Special

 

*Author’s note – Any allusions to real people are purely the author’s invention. I don’t knows any of the actors and they will probably find my depiction offensive

 

“No, I don’t want to attend any sort of Christmas bazaar in the village,” Mary said with a sniff of derision. “It’s common and silly. Next you’ll want me to go house to house wrapped in a knitted scarf singing Christmas carols to the villagers.”

Matthew frown, his lips pursed in frustration. “I **like** caroling. I used to do it in Manchester with our neighbors. And Mother and I would go to the Christmas bazaar and there’d be hot cider and roast chestnuts and ice skating…” His voice took on a wistful tone. “I just thought it would be fun. It’s our first Christmas”

“And I think a dinner party would be fun,” Mary countered. Matthew generally let her have her way if she pushed back enough. She had talked him out of moving to a new, smaller home after they married. She had gotten him to give up his odd moralistic stand over the money from Reggie Swire. She would win this battle as well. It wasn’t even really a battle, just a skirmish. It was easy for him to go on about his fondness for Christmas village gatherings, ice skating and caroling, he hadn’t been raised in their world and didn’t realize how dismally quaint he sounded. She blamed Isobel for that, her and her decidedly liberal views that Matthew occasionally espoused.

He frowned at her. “Mary, you do understand that we’re married and we’re supposed to have some give and take between us. I’m not asking that we spend Christmas week at Crawley House with my mother, or that you should change all of your Christmas traditions. I mean, we’ll give the servants the afternoon off and play charades with your parents… but my family has traditions too.”

“And that’s lovely but I’m not parading about the village swilling hot cider with the locals while you and Tom Branson race to see who can fall on their face on the ice the fastest.” She gave him a pat. “I don’t mind if you want to go, but I’m going to stay home and take a nap.”

He squared up his shoulders. Oh he’s annoyed, she thought with amusement as he grabbed his jacket. “I wish you wouldn’t be so stuffy sometimes, Mary,” he said, his tone exasperated. “I’m suggesting a bit of fun, not torture. We’re married, we should do things together.”

“And we will,” she said as she kissed him on the cheek, “but not today. Now go have fun.”

She waited until he left the room to get onto the bed and curl up around the pillows. She wasn’t tired so much as wanting to feel luxurious and lazy. That was why an afternoon walking around the village in the cold dodging snowballs and eating lukewarm poorly made treats sounded dreadful. She fell asleep almost instantly.

That made it all the more irritating that someone shook her awake. “What?” she hissed as she opened her eyes. Then her jaw dropped as she found herself staring into the eyes of Lavinia Swire. “Oh my god….”

Lavinia was dressed in an outlandish outfit. Some sort of form fitting trousers, a white open shirt that looked more like a man’s shirt except that the collar was open and lacking any sort of tie. The outfit was rounded out with a leather jacket and shamelessly high heels. “Hi, Mary. I’m the ghost of Lavinia Swire and I’ve come to warn you that you’re going to be visited by three ghosts this afternoon so you can learn what the real spirit of Christmas is all about.”

“What?” Have I gone mad, she wondered.

Lavinia patted her knee reassuringly and smiled. “Haven’t you read Dickens? A Christmas Carol? All long running tv shows do the Christmas Carol episode at some point. Basically you’re going to be visited by people who play dead characters on the show and hopefully learn a life lesson. It’s pretty standard dreck but honestly the show really went to hell.”  


“The show? Dead characters? How did you get in here? Why are you dressed like a whore?” Mary had so many questions.

Lavinia rolled her eyes. “Oh god, I forgot that you’re not Michelle and that you’re a complete piece of work. It doesn’t really matter how I got in here, but basically there was a massive collision in the time space continuum where your world intersected with mine. In my world, your life here at Downton is like a serialized soap opera. I’m not really Lavinia, I’m Zoe Boyle and I played Lavinia Swire on the show. Until the damn writer of the show decided everyone would be happier if she was dead. It was a crock of crap from a writing standpoint but that’s way above my paygrade. So, until the Time Lord from your continuum figures out how to unstick everyone, we thought it would be fun to stage an intervention with you and show you what the true meaning of Christmas is. Because every show has to have a Christmas Carol episode. And I thought it would be fun and the paycheck was incredible. I’m not really a great fit in the role of Jacob Marley but frankly it was really hard finding a character that qualified as a dead friend of Lady Mary Crawley. Or even a live friend. Because, you know, you’re a bit of a bitch. So here I am playing Lavinia Swire. And I’m not dressed like a whore.”

“Are you sure?” Mary asked, suddenly feeling better. It’s just a bad dream, she told herself. “That outfit is quite whorish.”

Lavinia or Zoe glared at her. “You may be the only one this doesn’t work on. Look, here’s the format. You’ll be visited by three ghosts, the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. Maybe you’ll learn something. All I know is that Allen appointed himself king of the craft table and I want some cherry pie before he eats it all.” She stood up and simply walked to the door, opening it. “Thomas, you’re up!”

She left and closed the door. It opened almost immediately and William Mason strode through the door. He was wearing denim trousers and some sort of athletic shirt. His hair was mussed and longer than she expected and he was holding a glass of beer. “Hey,” he called out cheerfully. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past. You might remember me from such roles as William Mason, footman extraordinaire. Now get up.”

“William….?” She did get up despite being shocked by his appearance and impertinent tone.

He shook his head. “I’m Thomas Howe, the poor bastard who had to play poor William on this godforsaken show. Now come on, I have an audition in London so I don’t have time to hand hold you through this.”

“I thought this was…. A serialized soap opera. And that you were getting paid.” She let some sharpness enter her voice. It was a strange dream, she couldn’t deny that, but William was being fresh for someone who was being paid for his services.

“Yes the dosh is lovely, but I’m up for a continuing role on Wolf Hall so let’s get going.” He gestured to the door. “Don’t look so bloody terrified. We’re just going to look at a Christmas from your past. You know, so you can reflect on how you’re being an utter twat to poor Matthew.” He went out the door at a jog

“An utter WHAT?” Mary said, seeing red. She chased after him. Even if it was a dream, there was no way she was going to be spoken to like that. Not even by poor dead William’s pretend ghost. She stormed out the door of her bedroom…

Only to find herself suddenly in the main hall downstairs. William, in his odd attire, was there, smirking at her. “I knew that would get you moving. Now, remember, no one can see us and watch and see what you were like when you weren’t so snobby and bitchy.”

“How dare you speak to me that way!” she hissed. And then she stopped because three little girls went running down the hall as the servants began to depart for their half day. That’s me, she thought in surprise, and Edith and Sybil.

“Carson!” her younger self cried out, “can we come to the Christmas Bazaar with you in the village? Mama said it was all right if you said it was all right! Can we, please? I told her that you needed us to help you skate and build the best snow man!”

Carson, also much younger, smiled as though he’d been told he was getting the best possible treat of the holiday season. “How lovely, Lady Mary, that you and Ladies Edith and Sybil want to keep an old man company. I was afraid I’d have to ice skate all by myself. Now, I think you ladies need to get some jackets and mittens and scarves…” Mary watched, recalling the fond memories.

“I’d forgotten about that, how Carson used to take us to the bazaar.” She felt almost wistful. “You know, I never asked but I was always certain he used to ask Papa’s permission to take us, and then he’d make a fuss how lonely he’d be having to go by himself.”

William made a show of looking quizzically at her. “Do you mean, you used to like going to the bazaar? All the dreadful ice skating and singing and people having fun?”

Mary rolled her eyes at him. “I was a child. Children like silly things. Are you really going to all this effort over the Christmas bazaar?”

“How did it feel, the first time you weren’t allowed to go?” William asked. “Where you had to be a real lady and not play with the servants?”

“I was fine,” she insisted. That wasn’t true, she had cried and cried the first time her mother insisted she stay home. “Children grow up. It’s required.”

William seemed frustrated. Then he glanced at a small rectangular object in his hand. “Ok, my girlfriend is texting me that she’s here to pick me up for my audition. And let’s be honest, you’re not getting it. It makes sense. This never works until the third ghost. That’s the point of the bloody trope, after all.” He snapped his fingers and like magic they were back in her bedroom. “Look,” he said more gently, “we’re not doing this to be mean. We just figured that since there was a universe where Downton Abbey was real, it was sort of a duty to of ours to… help you.”

“How is this helping me?” Mary demanded.

William/Thomas Howe shrugged. “Well, obviously it’s not but then no one gets the point until the end. Even Scrooge. Anyway, I need to run.” He opened the bedroom door. “Jessica you’re up”.

Then he left and the door almost immediately opened, revealing Sybil. Only Sybil had her hair down around her shoulders, and was wearing a sort of trouser and shirt ensemble that wasn’t unattractive but was far beyond any outlandish outfit she’d ever seen Sybil in before. She was also holding a generous glass of white wine. “What are you wearing, Sybil?

“Oh I’m not Sybil,” Sybil said merrily, her words slurring enough to let Mary know the glass of wine wasn’t her first. “I’m Jessica. Jessica Brown Findlay. I used to play Sybil and I was in town, and there were awards and honestly it just seemed like a fun idea to get together with everyone. And the money was outstanding and with the parallel universe collision grounding all flights….I figured why not?” She took a rather large gulp of wine. “So you know the drill right? I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present, and we’re having a party and trying to teach you the meaning of Christmas and how to not be such a bitch?”

“Does everyone speak so vulgarly in your world?” Mary shot back.

Jessica/Sybil grinned. “Oh bloody hell, you really are a piece of work.” She went over to the door and opened it. “Guys I need help. Send in Maggie! And dammit Allen, don’t you eat all the calamari!”

The door swung open and her grandmother staggered in. Or rather, someone who looked like her grandmother but mostly certainly was not. Her hair was short, she was wearing some sort of mannish pantsuit and a childish witch hat. She had a glass of scotch in one hand and a giant bluish glowing stick in the other. “Jessica, really, can’t you bloody fucking manage? This is just a pile of Christmas Carol tripe. I could do this with my lightsaber tied behind my back!”

“I just needed back up,” Jessica said brightly.

“Well, then let’s get to it. I have a fight with Darth Barrow to film for the internet.” The woman masquerading as her grandmother turned to her. “Mary, stop being such a bitch.”

Mary gasped. Jessica snickered and took a long drink of wine. “We’re not quite to that point, Maggie. I haven’t shown her how she’s being a complete ass to Matthew.”

“Right, right, she needs to see how bloody miserable she’s making everyone,” Maggie said. “I’ll come with you as long as I get to bring my drink and my lightsaber.”

“Seems reasonable.” Jessica snapped her fingers and suddenly they were in the library. “Remember, no one can see us.”

Maggie waggled her glowing blue stick at Tom Branson, who was chatting with Matthew and Sybil while Barrow offered them tea. “Look at that, they get real tea while that fucking Highclere bitch throws a fit. It makes me want to fling this drink on the floor, just to spite the bitch.”

“Please don’t,” Mary said quickly. It was just a bad dream, her grandmother cursing like a sailor, but there was still a level of decorum that needed to be maintained.

“Why the fuck do you care? It’s not like you’ll have to clean the bloody floor,” Maggie said as she took a generous drink of her scotch. “What do you care if wasshername… the stupid little whiner that Sophia plays, has to scrub the floor.”

“You know,” Jessica said as she gestured to the men, and her pregnant other self, “when we’re done with this, maybe we should stage a little intervention for Allen. He’s getting chubby and I think he was trying to get Rob to join him in some sort of cheese eating contest. He was eating that entire wedge of brie. That’s not healthy.”

“And poor Matthew here makes Dan look anorexic,” Maggie said. She sniffed derisively. “I told him to at least eat a sandwich so I could be certain he wouldn’t keel over from starvation… Apparently along with not eating meat, or anything with sugar, he also doesn’t eat bread. For fuck’s sake, who doesn’t eat bread? It’s no wonder that one scotch got him completely drunk.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Really, why are we here? To debate the disgusting eating habits of people I don’t know?”

“That’s actually a nice segue way to how you are sometimes selfish and uncaring about the feelings of others,” Jessica said.

“Sometimes? Hmmmph!” Maggie said. “Why don’t you listen to what your family is saying?” She snapped her fingers and suddenly it was as though she had turned on the sound.

Matthew crossed his arms. “I know I shouldn’t worry but I feel like we’ve been married for just six months and we’re already drifting apart. I just thought it would be fun. It’s been so long since I even looked forward to the holidays… I used to dread them, really.”

“Why is that,” Sybil asked worriedly as she put her hand on Tom’s knee. Mary found herself nodding to that. Matthew had never mentioned any pensiveness about the holidays. Sybil gave Tom a reassuring pat. “I mean, you just got done describing how much fun Christmas in Manchester was.”

Matthew smiled slightly. “I did, didn’t I? My father loved Christmas. He’d surprise my mother and I with little gifts every day, from the first to the twenty fourth. Advent presents, he called them. They were just little things, like candies or colored pencils, or oranges.” He grinned suddenly. “Mother usually got flowers, and I suspect, promises for things later. We’d decorate the house and go caroling and my father would make a show of taking me to a store and consulting me on what he should get Mother as a gift.” His smile faded. “And then Father died, and I know you see my mother as a very strong woman but it was very difficult for her. I was only ten when it happened and when that first Christmas without him came, there wasn’t really much good cheer in our house. There wasn’t much money either, and what there was my mother had to work very hard for. Everything my father left was going toward my schooling. I had already discovered that a lot of the treats my school friends got were simply out of reach, we couldn’t afford very much beyond necessities, so when my mother asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I told her I wanted to go to the Christmas bazaar. Because it was free to go, and I had earned a few pence doing chores for our neighbors so I could make a show of treating her to the hot cider and roast chestnuts the street vendors always had. Father had never taken us, so we could do something that didn’t… make her cry.” He sighed.

“That’s so sad,” Sybil said.

“I bet she did cry,” Tom said, nodding wisely.

Matthew nodded. “She did, but she didn’t admit that to me until years later. I wanted to tell Mary this, that this wasn’t always an easy holiday for me, and that for the first time in a long time I felt like it wouldn’t be difficult to get through. But I thought she’d be more receptive…” He sighed again, and Tom patted him on the back.

“God,” Jessica muttered, “is he not the kindest and most decent man ever? I kind of want to marry him now.”

“I’d tap that,” Maggie said agreeably. “But then I always said that.” She glared at Mary. “You’re such a bitch, Mary. You’re ruining Christmas for him. It’s not like he gets any more.”

That made Mary angry. “He didn’t tell me that! If I’d known it was all wrapped up in his childhood, and his sadness, and his loving me so much…” She felt terrible, but it was just like Matthew to tell everyone but her what he was feeling. “And how are you two the Ghost of Christmas Present anyway?” It had been ages since she had been forced by the governess to read Dickens and she had never finished it.

“Realistically the only reason Violet is alive is Julian loving me,” Maggie said. “That and of course, witchcraft and Jedi discipline.” She waved her lightsaber.

Jessica seemed more inclined to give a real answer. “Ok, I wanted to leave the show so…” She pointed at Sybil’s growing stomach. “I got written out, and that means… Sybil will die having her baby.”

“She’ll… she’ll die?” Mary felt her heart clench. “How?”

“Eclampsia,” Jessica said matter of factly. “It causes a big issue too, because your dad listened to some ritzy famous doctor from London instead of Dr. Clarkson. If she’d been at a hospital instead of here, she would have lived. And if I hadn’t pissed off the writer, I might have gotten some tragic final words and an awards nod. Anyway, try to be less of a bitch.” She snapped her fingers and they were back in her bedroom. “Maggie, now is the right time.”

Maggie pointed the lightsaber at her. “If you strike me down, I shall only grow more powerful,” the older woman intoned.

Jessica coughed. “Not your line for the Star Wars thing….”

“Oh right.” Maggie waved the lightsaber again. “Mary, stop being such a bitch.”

Mary rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Really? You think that’s helpful?”

They both shrugged. “No one really gets it until the Ghost of Christmas Future,” Jessica said. “So we’ll do that.” She and Maggie went to the door and opened it and stepped through. Mary could hear laughter and joking, and then the door closed.

Only to swing open, seconds later, to let a stranger that resembled Matthew stride into the room. He looked like Matthew in most fundamental ways, he was the right height and his eyes were a brilliant blue. But… She began to check off the problems. His hair was dark brown, not blond, and he looked like he hadn’t bothered shaving in days. He was also much thinner and much more fit than Matthew, and she knew that because he was wearing nothing but a pair of skintight black pants and a black tie and shirt cuffs. No shirt to go with the cuffs and tie, he was essentially naked to the waist.

“Hi!” he said brightly, sounding just like Matthew. “I’m Dan, and I am playing the Ghost of Christmas Future, and I am so drunk right now. I haven’t had any alcohol in months, or any bread or sugar or meat... It’s all worth it though. Look at how rock hard my abs are. I don’t have a six pack, I have an eight pack. I’m at four percent body fat.” He spun around and flexed his arms, wobbling and then falling on her bed. “Wow, I almost fainted. What do you think of me? And my new look?”

“You look too thin, and what happened to your chest hair?” Matthew wasn’t exactly a hairy bear underneath his shirts, but he wasn’t as smooth as a boy while sporting the chiseled muscles of an Adonis either.

“I waxed it off. Americans like their action heroes body sculpted.” He said it matter of factly.

“But you couldn’t summon the strength to shave your face?” She had to admit, it was oddly compelling, the idea of Matthew with a little bit of scruff and so muscular.

“See, you’re not going to out bitch me, Mary,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not your husband, I’m just the guy who used to play him in our universe, so I don’t have to keep on your good side.” He smirked at her. “I don’t shave because my real wife likes it. She calls it her thigh tickler. Think about what that implies.”

She did. “Oh my god, you’re vulgar!”

He stood up. “And you’re a fictional character who almost never learns a lesson, but I was in London for the awards and then the parallel universe crashed, and they offered me a ton of money. And it’s pissing off Julian to have me around so here I am, the Ghost of Christmas Future.” He snapped his fingers.

And suddenly they were in the breakfast room. She could see her other self, and her father, and Tom looking decidedly plumper. And there was a strange man there. Nice looking, with dark hair and blue eyes, he was vaguely familiar. “Who’s that?”

Dan/Matthew snickered. “That’s your new husband. I think his name is Henry. I stopped watching the show when I left, of course, but I think he’s some sort of race car driver which of course was supposed to provide angst since Matthew died so hilariously in a car wreck.”

That stopped her cold. She spun on him. “What in the name of god are you talking about?” Although she already had an unpleasant idea. The woman, Jessica, said that she left the show. This dark haired stranger who had Matthew’s eyes just said he left the show. “Are you saying Matthew dies?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms, clearly annoyed. For an instant he looked just like Matthew. “I’m sorry, have you even bothered to read A Christmas Carol?”

She glared at him. “I got bored after the old man was getting so much criticism for daring to insist his servant know his place, I threw it in the fire and blamed it on Edith. Does Matthew die?”

“No, he runs off to America to become a barnstorming pilot.” Dan shook his head. “If you’d read the book, you’d realize that Matthew is the Tiny Tim of this tale. By this time next year, he’ll be dead. And even I feel sorry for him, because even though I got tired of playing the most noble and decent man who ever existed, I did like him, and all he ever wanted was to be happy with you. And you make it so hard for him. My wife felt sorry for him whenever she watched the show. ‘Why is Mary so mean to Matthew? I wish you were more like Matthew, Dan. Doesn’t she realize he’s totally in love with her?’ I mean, you know how I compete with that? I had to do this,” and he gestured to his washboard abs. “Do you know how hard this is to maintain? I can’t even have a piece of toast! And you just treat him like a piece of trash.”

“Oh god,” she said as she looked at the miserable breakfast table. “When do I remarry? Why would I remarry? How did Matthew die?” How could Matthew die, she thought worriedly.

“Well,” Dan intoned in a condescending way, “ **I** stopped watching but I kept up…. You know that lovely convertible he bought on your honeymoon and how he likes to drive about the countryside?”

“Yes….”

“So the day you give birth to your son… in fact you’re probably pregnant right now, Matthew is overjoyed, because he’s the nicest and greatest guy who ever lived and runs off to excitedly tell the family that you had a baby and crashes the car.” Dan twirled around excitedly. “I was covered in so much fake blood to film it, it was hilarious. Anyway, that’s one of the reasons I agreed to do this age old trope with everyone. That and all the money and the fact that there’s a major parallel universe crash and it’s really more dull than anything else, but the kids still need to eat.” He pointed at the dark haired fellow sitting at the breakfast table. “You grieve for about six months, and then start dating everyone and anyone. Let’s see, there was Tony Gillingham, Charles Blake, Evelyn Napier for a bit. None of them worked on screen. So they went for a really big name actor but then the show was canceled so the story was really rushed….. He’s basically fortieth in line for an earldom. He likes to fix cars and I think he and Tom has some sort of homosexual thing going on. Every date you went on, you had Tom tagging along, giving Henry looks and smiles. Hell, most of the fans thought you’d end up marrying Tom. Or Tom would marry Henry.”

“Why the hell would I marry the bloody chauffeur?” Mary asked.

Dan shrugged. “Honestly, it was more that Michelle and Allen really pop on screen and like each other, but there were whole fandoms over it. Then you… I don’t know, really. It was all wrapped up in you torturing Edith and ruining her chances of marriage and then everyone in the family called you a bitch and told you to marry Henry. And you did. And it has basically been sad, and even the audience didn’t understand your motivation since you essentially ended up married to a man you barely knew, had nothing in common with, and didn’t seem to like. I mean, you whined and moaned about marrying a lawyer who might become an earl. Henry is a glorified car mechanic who would have to slay the majority of his living family in order for you to get a title.”

She considered that for a long moment. Finally she said, “You seem very knowledgeable for someone who doesn’t… watch the show.”

“No, no. no, this isn’t about me. This is about you and how you’re a bitch and how you need to consider whether you want Matthew’s last Christmas to be all about making him feel bad over his wanting to spend time with you.” Dan sat down in one of the chairs. “I’m sorry… just feeling a little faint… I am so drunk.”

“This can’t happen,” Mary said, more to herself. She pulled Dan to his feet. “I get it. I’ve learned my lesson. I need to not be a…. a bitch, to Matthew. Now snap your fingers and take me back to my bedroom.”

“Really, you can’t possibly take the stairs? We’ve barely met and already you demand I use parallel universe temporal magic to please you.” Dan crossed his arms, for a moment looking like Matthew when Matthew wanted to chide her.

“I was thinking of you. You look like a small breeze would blow you down.” This is practice, Mary told herself. “I mean yes, you’re delightfully muscular but this… look seems difficult to maintain.”

“I miss cake,” he said sadly as he snapped his fingers and they arrived back in the bedroom. “And bread. And meat. But mostly cake.”

“Well,” Mary said gently as she led him to the door. “I get it, I’m a bitch and I have to change in order to let Matthew have a nice Christmas. Why don’t you go see your friends, and maybe put a shirt on, and have a piece of cake. You’ve earned it.”

“I hope Allen didn’t eat it all,” Dan said as he stumbled to the door. He turned back to her and shook his finger at her. “You really need to actually read A Christmas Carol, Mary. I mean really, it’s a classic of English literature.”

“I promise,” she said gravely. Then she shoved him through the door.

And then she was sitting up in her bed. Did I dream this, she thought worriedly as she got out of bed and rang the bell. Was it just a terrible, strange dream?

Anna came in. “What is it, Lady Mary?”

“Has Matthew left for the village yet?” She began to gather her jacket and mittens.

“No,” Anna said pleasantly. “He and Lady Sybil and Mr. Branson decided to wait for the servants who were going. They thought being in a big group would be more fun.”

Of course they did, she thought tiredly, and then she forced herself to smile. “Please tell him to wait for me, that I will be right down.”

Matthew’s eyes lit up with pleasure as she walked down the stairs. She was relieved to see that he didn’t look rail thin, and was clean shaven and fully dressed. “Mary,” he said as he took her arm, “I’m so pleased you decided to join us.”

She decided to throw him a bone. “You were right. I took a short nap and had a terrible dream and realized I was being terribly selfish, and terribly stuffy.” She leaned in and kissed him. “You just wanted us to make a new tradition and you were being very sweet.”

“Well, I am delighted you changed your mind,” he said warmly.

She turned her attention to Sybil and Tom, who were both grinning as if they were well pleased with her change of mind. It was time for things to change, she thought. “Sybil, when I had this terrible dream, I had a terrible premonition about you. So I want you to make me a promise, a Christmas promise, like when we were little girls and you can’t break it. Like when you made me promise to not destroy Edith’s presents. I did keep that promise, you know.”

Sybil laughed. “Oh Mary, you are being so silly. What do I have to promise?”

“No matter what Papa wants or Tom, for that matter, you’re having your baby in the hospital.” She held up her hand as both Tom and Sybil began to laughingly protest. “I’m not kidding or teasing, Sybil. I am very worried and you can blame me if Papa protests, and call it my being a silly overreacting woman, but I want you to promise me this.”

After a moment, Sybil gave Tom a look, and he nodded. “Mary,” Sybil said, her tone warm. “I don’t want you to worry. I’m perfectly healthy but if it eases your mind, then of course I will have the baby at the hospital. I promise, and I won’t break it.”

“Thank you, Sybil.” She waited until they were walking hand in hand on the road, to broach the promise she wanted Matthew to make. “Matthew, I had a premonition about you as well.”

He gripped her hand and smiled. “Do I have to make a Christmas promise too?” His words were light but she realized suddenly that he was worried about her.

“You do,” she said. “I want you to sell the car. If you don’t sell it, and soon, I will just set fire to it.” If Matthew didn’t own a car, he couldn’t die in a terrible car accident.

He considered her request as they walked. “Selling it at least saves some money…. Why do you want me to sell the car? I thought you liked it.”

“I did like it,” she admitted. “But if you keep it, this… this will be the only Christmas we ever share.”

Matthew was silent for a long moment. He stopped walking and pulled her close, looking her in the eye intently. “If that’s what it takes to have more than one Christmas with you, perhaps we should turn around and set it on fire right now.”

“It can wait to be sold, I think,” she said with a laugh. Parallel universe, silly soap opera, or just a bad dream, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t going to be marrying some jumped up car mechanic, not if she could help it. She wasn’t losing the most precious thing in her life over a car, even if she did feel like she was using her apparently well known reputation as a demanding bitch to accomplish it. She looked into his sweet, smiling, pleasantly round face. “One more promise. Promise me you’ll never deny yourself the pleasure of a piece of cake.”

He laughed. “I hate to ask what prompted that, but I promise.”


End file.
